


So long as men can breathe

by Ambrose



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M, Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/pseuds/Ambrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romeo and Juliet's daughter asks her uncles how they got together. Benvolio chooses to answer: letting Mercutio tell their story doesn't sound like a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Astray, Dibee and Daelf for their support, beta-reading, and so much more.

Mercutio stared at his niece, then at his companions. “D'you think I should tell her?”

Benvolio shook his head, in complete shock. Tybalt just smiled: “If you manage to keep it family friendly”.

“And leave out all the interesting bits? What would be the point?”

Tybalt scowled, but their niece interrupted his protests: "c'mon, I'm not a child anymore, nothing could shock me.”

Ben mumbled something that might have meant “I'm not so sure about that.”

“Have you seen the internet, lately?”

“The kid has a point” Tybalt said.

 

 

Their relationship didn't start in the best of ways. Tybalt and Benvolio had known each other from childhood, they'd even played together and called themselves friends – but that was before Tybalt got dragged into the family strife. Ben knew that deep down the Capulet boy wasn't all that bad, and just elected to ignore him and his mean remarks. Even when he tried to provoke fights and Benvolio's other cousins took the bait. Tybalt's attacks just got worse with time, taking advantage of Benvolio's good nature and the knowledge that he wouldn't strike back.

From what started as some sort of friendship, they grew apart. Benvolio then made sure to go to school in other parts of the city, to be as far away as possible from the feud, and be able to live far from his family. Then his uncle actually accepted to pay for that fancy art school in Mantua that he dreamt of, so he could leave Verona at last.

That's when he met Mercutio; during his very first class, in which they both had to defend that there was nothing weird in painting nudes, against some idiot who clearly was only there because he thought art didn't require any work.

They talked a bit, and discovered that they both came from the same city. The idiot they'd argued against was actually Mercutio's cousin, Paris, who'd followed him there when the Prince asked him to _fucking do something with his life besides courting all the Capulet girls_. Benvolio left out the reasons for his exile, and Mercutio seemed reluctant to give any; besides, the art school was reason enough. He also noticed that Mercutio didn't call the Prince his uncle, though he knew he was; if he hadn't known him from sight, at least his name rang a bell. The Veronese family took in the papers almost as much space as the riots between Capulets and Montagues. Which got Benvolio to think Mercutio must know about him too, or at least his family. But he didn't seem to mind, so Benvolio didn't mention anything. He didn't care himself that Mercutio was somehow famous in his home city, and hoped that if he didn't say anything then somehow their families could be ignored. The last thing he wanted was to be followed by the feud he'd tried to leave behind.

 

Sadly, they got only a few minutes to talk before each had to go to his own classes, and Benvolio already regretted that they didn't get the chance to get to know each other more. Mercutio was quite fascinating. His hair was dyed red-orange, short, sculpted asymmetrically as if it were a piece of art on its own, and his personality was just the same: eccentric, he didn't give a shit what other people could think, and his art was provocative. He couldn't think why Mercutio would want to befriend him, but he liked him already.

He caught himself hoping he wouldn't be stuck in other classes with the stubborn spoilt brat that was Paris. Instead he soon found out that most of the classes he attended, the nicer of the two Della Scala was taking them too.

They soon spent most of their time together, either in the workshops or studying in the library – until Benvolio suggested they might go elsewhere directly, rather than angering the poor librarian: it embarrassed Benvolio to no end when Mercutio started talking loudly and the old man stared at them. The first time he actually threatened to throw them out, they left on their free will and went to the coffee shop instead. But Benvolio soon realised he would not be able to accomplish any work there, not to mention that the tea they served was disgusting. Afterwards he invited Mercutio to his place; they could work comfortably at least – not that Mercutio really ever worked when they were together. Ben had no clue how he managed to pass the assignments; he probably got everything done last minute, yet always came up with some gorgeous artwork.

Benvolio would have lied if he'd said he wasn't charmed by his friend, and felt quite embarrassed to invite him, at first – afraid it could be taken for more than it was. But Mercutio was so always at ease, he didn't even seem to notice Ben's embarrassment, as he accepted on the spot. And so they started spending more and more time together at one or the other's place.

Mercutio was very familiar with him, being almost intimate – and yet Benvolio wouldn't let himself hope, because he'd seen his friend act like this with numerous other people; he could not, would not allow himself to think there was anything more than friendship, because he would not lose him. And even if he tried to ignore it, gossip had it that he had left multiple lovers – all female – in Verona, and that was why the Prince accepted to pay for his art school, to keep him away while the rumours faded. Mercutio seemed to know everyone in town, too, and Benvolio would not have been astonished to find out that he was seeing women, even though it was never in front of him. And what rights did he have on him, beyond friendship? None. He couldn't say anything, and did his best not to show any jealousy when Mercutio's friends hinted at this or that girl he might have spent a night or two with. Mercutio was that flamboyant being that had barged into his life, and he'd be damned if he let him go away just the same. He would not lose him if he could help it. Even if that meant staying silent, because it still hurt less than being estranged – he couldn't bear the thought of _that_.

 

One day, they were sprawled on Benvolio's couch, art history books spread all over the place. They were both reading, but Mercutio was strangely silent, so Benvolio couldn't help but stop every couple of lines to look at his friend, trying to muster the courage to ask what his problem was. Mercutio was visibly ignoring him, staring at the pages of his Italian Renaissance art book and nothing else. Ben hated that, and at the same time felt that Mercutio wouldn't speak if he asked, and he didn't want to seem intrusive. _Nonsense, he's your friend, it's normal to be concerned._

He looked over again, and marvelled at how handsome his friend was. Mercutio somehow had stopped playing with dyes and other hair products, so long strands of curly blonde hair, which could not stay in place, much like their owner, were partially hiding his features. Suddenly Benvolio wished he could tuck them behind his ear to see him better, and maybe kiss the frown out of his face. He scolded himself, it would not do to think like that. Especially not in his presence.

Still, he wanted to know what was wrong, to comfort him as best he could. Except Mercutio never really talked about himself unless in jests, and Benvolio wasn't sure he could find the right words to make him open up to him, without upsetting him. He'd learned from the past few months spent in his company, that Mercutio was quite good at hiding his feelings, although Benvolio could see the pain and insecurity behind the smiles and the jests. He didn't want to be the one to inflict them.

He was about to say something at last, when Mercutio put down his mug on the coffee table, quite violently, interrupting Benvolio's thoughts. “What's wrong, Benny?”, and his tone was almost aggressive, for once no playfulness in the surname – and Benvolio felt a pang of hurt. But he tried not to show it, and instead returned the question to Mercutio.

“What do you mean, Benny? I'm fine! Great! As usual! You on the other hand look worried...” but his laugh was forced, and he never had snapped at Benvolio like that before...

“Even barely fine you're never like that. You've been frowning for the past hour, and reading the same page over and over again. Worse, you haven't _talked_.”

Mercutio snapped his book shut. “Oh. Good to know I'm such a bother when we study that I have to be ill whenever I behave.”

“See? Whatever's going on... Just don't try to deny it, because usually you might do a great job at pretending, so I can pretend as well that I don't notice – but that makes me all the more concerned now. We're friends, I can help!” Mercutio was looking at him, his face a mask, and Ben didn't know what to do, or say, that could make things better.

“That's the problem, and you can't.” Mercutio was getting up, and Benvolio, reflexively, put a hand on his. His friend stilled, looking at him, and Benvolio could have sworn he saw his breathing hitch. But then Mercutio pulled away – though he didn't leave, and instead reopened his book, probably to glare at the same page over and over again. “Just stressed by the exams,” he mumbled.

Benvolio settled back. “No, you're not. You're all over the place when you're stressed. You'd be questioning me on small details only you noticed, and asking me to do the same. You'd have finished with that book a long time ago. Although I'm sure that painting you're staring at would be better if you actually looked at it the right way.” He was holding the book upside down. “But if you don't want to talk, that's fine, I guess.”

Truth be told, Benvolio felt stupid. Why did he have to push it when he'd noticed Mercutio wasn't in a mood to talk? But it hurt, too, knowing that he didn't trust him enough, when _he_ would have given anything to help. Mercutio grumbled something unintelligible, switched the book around, and proceeded to ignore him. But however much Benvolio tried to concentrate on the essay he was reading, he always ended up looking at Mercutio – who now turned the pages with a forced regularity and very theatrical gestures. Benvolio burst out laughing, and Mercutio's outraged protest sent him into another fit of giggles.

“What is iiiiiiiit?”

“You're asking?” Benvolio managed, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You're making fun of me now,” Mercutio pouted.

Benvolio tried to repress a chuckle. “Wasn't that your goal in acting so childish?”

“No, actually.” Suddenly Mercutio seemed dead serious, and Ben sobered instantly. “Is that how you see me? A child? a fool?” He was looking intently at Benvolio, as if he could find the answer on his face; and Benvolio could not find the proper words to reassure him.

“That's what I thought.”

“Wait, no! How can you even _think_ that! Mercutio, look at me!” This time he did not hesitate before he took his friend's hands, or grabbed his chin to force him to look up. “I wasn't mocking you, I was laughing at your antics. There's a difference. You're funny, but I'd never laugh at you. Or hurt you. You're... my friend. Friends... laugh together. I...” It was so hard to say the right thing, not to say too much lest Mercutio would bolt away, or think he was still mocking – or be disgusted by Benvolio's feelings!

“Friends.” Mercutio repeated. “Indeed.” He seemed to find some countenance, but his face was a mask; Benvolio didn't know how to interpret it, was it... but no, we wouldn't dare even think it, Mercutio would say it if it were, wouldn't he? He who was always so quick-witted and keen on laughing at himself – but then he'd seemed so insecure moments ago and...

“Well.” Mercutio took his hand away, and sat back. He smiled at Benvolio, as if everything was okay – but his friend could tell it still wasn't. Something was bugging him, but he would not say what. And all Ben could do was assure him he'd be there to listen, and hope Mercutio would trust him enough.

“I understand that you might not want to tell me, but whatever is going on, if you need anything... If you need me, I'm here.”

Mercutio smiled again, a sad smile; Benvolio could almost see the tears. He knew, somehow, that if Mercutio's mask crumbled he could not pick up the pieces. He laughed and jested all the time but there was so much pain behind, of which Ben suspected he could see but the smallest part, and even so he could feel his heart tighten in his chest at the thought.

Mercutio didn't take the opportunity given him to unburden himself, and instead fell silent, but when he started reading again, mere moments later, he seemed more peaceful, as if he'd found something in himself to go on. Benvolio chose to respect his silence.


	2. Chapter 2

This went on for a few more days, Mercutio always seemed tense but would never say a thing, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a minute – this was a normal setting for him, but he wasn't making any lewd jokes either, and that was a sure sign that he wasn't okay. Benvolio had seen him laugh in all circumstances, on all topics. _He must be sick_ , Benvolio told himself, _and he doesn't want me to worry._

“Benny?” Mercutio called out one evening as they were reading on his sofa.

“Yes?” Benvolio had stopped protesting against the nickname a long time ago.

“You... said the other day that... I could tell you anything?”

Benvolio smiled encouragingly. “Yes?”

Mercutio seemed to consider it for a moment, head tilted, looking at Benvolio without really seeing him. But then he shook his head and said, “No, nothing, never mind,” and went back to his book.

Benvolio fought the idea that Mercutio did not trust him; he knew it wasn't true – or was it? What else could make him change his mind when he was just about to speak? “Fine! Just shut up and keep brooding then!”

It wasn't what he wanted to say, it was harsher than he'd meant it to be, and Mercutio's puzzled looks made him regret it instantly. He tried to reformulate as best as he could: “You obviously want to talk about it. I'm sorry that I'm not trustworthy enough for you to tell me, but at least don't pretend everything is okay.”

“Wait, what? No! I don't... It's not that... Fuck, can I even manage a full sentence?” Mercutio was visibly angry, though mostly at himself. He breathed out slowly, then said, as if he were weighing every word: “It's not that I don't trust you, Benny, you should know that. I just don't want to hurt you.” Benvolio was about to say something, but Mercutio stopped him before he could. “I don't want you to think less of me, I don't want to lose... our friendship.”

Mercutio knew. He had to know. He had to know Ben's feelings and he was about to tell him he didn't share them, and he was afraid he'd lose a friend. That had to be it, Benvolio thought, and the idea burnt him and made it impossible to breathe. But he could not let it show, or he'd lose him for good. Maybe if he could pretend that it wasn't true...

“Hurt me? What could you say that would hurt me? Why would I...” Then he thought of something else. “Why would I think any less of you? Are you doing drugs or something, or do you need money? You know I would try to help as best I can, right? You know I would not...” he looked him straight in the eyes. “I'd never judge you for that.”

Mercutio chuckled. “No, nothing so dire.”

“Then _tell me_!” Benvolio almost yelled.

“I don't...”

“Want to hurt me? I don't think I could worry more than I already do right now.” And Benvolio hated himself, because it was true. He was shaking, cold, and he couldn't think, didn't want to think of what he'd do if Mercutio rejected his feelings even before he'd told him, how he could possibly pretend things were okay as his hopes would crumble into dust, when even now he could not face the prospect.

“You say we're friends —”

“Are we not?” Benvolio interrupted, afraid of the turn things were taking.

“I believe we are, and I don't want to lose that. But—” Mercutio avoided his gaze.

“You won't, not if I can help it!”

“Let me finish? You see, every time you assure me that we're friends, all I can hear is that you believe we will always be friends. And only that. And you see, I could live with that. But now that I'm telling you this, I'll probably ruin that too. And I can only blame myself for being so familiar with you that I have no way to tell if you believe I'm just being myself, or joking, or...”

Benvolio tried to keep his calm – was Mercutio really saying that... because if he were not... yet what else could it be? “I... can see you're as serious as you could be... but what is it exactly you're trying to say?” _how stupid am I to even ask that,_ he instantly regretted.

“Isn't that obvious?” Mercutio cried out. “Or... Or are you trying to give me a way out because you don't think we should...” Mercutio took his head in his hands. “Why did I even think you would... How stupid could I be to even...”

Benvolio reached out to hold his wrists, to take his hands off his face. He could see Mercutio holding back tears, and he'd be damned if he cried because of him! “Not... not stupid, Mercutio,” he stammered. “I would never have had the courage to say what you just said. You're so... at ease with everyone that I never thought I was anything more... to you... than all those other people and...” but Mercutio looked up at him at last, and when they locked eyes he knew he had nothing more to say. Maybe he could've seen it all along if he hadn't feared to find something else in Mercutio's dark eyes, but it didn't matter anymore. He would not have to avert his eyes lest his friend sees him stare, he could look at that face all day if he wanted to; he could – and he did – touch these lips with the tip of his fingers and hear Mercutio draw a sharp breath – so close he might have heard his heart beat if his own weren't so loud. And when Mercutio's long fingers brushed up his arms to his shoulders and neck, to curl in his hair and draw him near, he shivered under the touch, but he wouldn't have moved away for the world. They were so close that he could feel Mercutio's breath on his lips; closer than ever before but not kissing yet – then Mercutio pulled away and Benvolio felt like his world would fall apart – had this been all a joke? But Mercutio just smiled at him, a gorgeous, shy smile that made his stomach twitch. He traced the contours of his face with one hand, as if he were seeing it for the first time; Benvolio leaned into the touch, closing his eyes in contentment.

When Mercutio's lips brushed against his, hesitant, his heart leapt in his chest. It was a long, gentle kiss, and he could guess Mercutio was restraining himself, but at the same time he felt him smile against his mouth and it was so perfect. He'd dreamt of this for weeks but it was so much better, feeling Mercutio pressed against him, knowing his feelings were reciprocated – knowing he wouldn't reject him, and that they could be this close — he was smiling so much it almost hurt, but he couldn't help it.


	3. Chapter 3

“But what about Uncle Tybalt, then?”

“Patience, little dove,” Mercutio answered—which made Benvolio laugh, because Mercutio had never been so patient himself. But his partners seemed content with him telling the story, so he went on.

 

 

He wasn't sure just how comfortable he was with being labelled by everyone, or with people at home hearing about this, but he would certainly not be shamed into hiding their relationship. In fact they already hanged out together so often before that, that practically nothing changed. People who didn't know them much already assumed they were a couple, and their own friends weren't such dicks as to change their behaviour towards them. Only the jokes on Mercutio's sex life stopped – only Mercutio himself still made those.

If anyone mocked them, or looked at them the wrong way, Mercutio was so quick to make fun of them in return that they wouldn't do it twice. But when Benvolio's cousin called him one evening, to have him confirm that the rumours he heard in Verona were false, Benvolio was a bit taken aback. They had always been good friends, and had spent a lot of time together – when Romeo wasn't chasing girls – and Ben always assumed he knew, because he'd never shown any interest in women, and Romeo had never pressed him to know. But now he wanted to be _reassured_ that Benvolio was straight?

“I don't know what rumours you're referring to, but you should remember that very good friend I told you about last time we talked – Mercutio – well, we're together now.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“And... you're happy? With a _man_?”

Benvolio had to laugh at this. “Yes, it's actually possible, you know, to live happily without a woman's company. Some of us are actually interested by brains rather than by cup size. How'd you think your girlfriend manages, either way?” He felt guilty to chide him like this, mostly because the irony would surely be lost on him.

“You mean Rosaline? She doesn't want to be my girlfriend, I told you! She said she's rather go to a nunnery. Can you believe that? She wants to be a nun, in our day and age!”

Yes, clearly, all irony was lost on Romeo. He might have said something about him having more breasts than brains, but that'd have been mean. One doesn't kick a helpless puppy. Romeo babbled on for some time about his lost love, then moved on to weird personal questions, because he simply _needed_ to know all about Benvolio's sex life – which made Ben feel uncomfortable and had Mercutio muffle a laugh from the other side of the couch – and did he plan to come home for Christmas because really his aunt – Romeo's mother, who'd raised them both – would probably not tolerate them together under her roof. Benvolio highly doubted that she was so close-minded, and in any case he knew that no-one would comment on them in their presence – if only because they'd do everything to stay on good terms with the Prince. But as he did not know what would be Mercutio's opinion on the matter, he could not answer as to whether they would indeed come home for Christmas. He wasn't sure, either, whether he should inflict his cousin's presence to his friend. Romeo wasn't a bad person, per se, but very silly, and always prone to make stupid comments. Mercutio would not resist making fun of him, and he couldn't say how much his aunt and uncle would like _that_.

 

In the end, they were all invited to the Christmas ball at the Della Scalas – a new scheme of the Prince to try and stop the hostilities, or as Mercutio would say, fight over who's the best, most expensively dressed, instead of taking it to the streets. Mercutio secured them a room in one of the old Della Scala houses, so they could meet whoever they wanted but still have their privacy: they definitively did not want to spend time at the Montagues' after Benvolio's uncle called the Prince to yell that it was a scandal that he would let their nephews cavort so publicly in Mantua to their families' shame.

It had taken a lot of time and efforts, from both Benvolio and the Prince, to convince Mercutio not to drive to Verona instantly, burst into the old man's office, and teach him a lesson.

“Don't you implicate our family in this,” the Prince insisted. “And that's also why, officially, you won't be staying in their house. No Della Scala will take sides in this. It's enough that you're flirting with one of them.”

At least Lady Montague, contrary to Romeo's predictions, made it clear that she would see them both, and that her husband would have no say in the matter. As far as she was concerned, her sister's son would always be welcome, the old fool be damned.

Being back in Verona felt weird. Benvolio had been used to live at his uncle's, with his cousin never very far. He'd also been raised in a city at war, and the streets felt strangely quiet. Well, they were buzzing with people shopping for the festivities, but pedestrians of all allegiances met without starting fights. If there was animosity, it didn't translate into anything but raised chins and whispered remarks amongst themselves. Benvolio wasn't naive enough to assume the fights were over for good, but if trouble was brewing, there was no sight of it. Maybe for once they were respecting the Prince's demands – and they would not have to spend Christmas at a funeral.

It was also strange to share an apartment with Mercutio so officially... They'd never really bothered with that, in Mantua they stayed wherever they were that evening, either Mercutio's or Benvolio's place; and they never really lived together in a formal way. But here... there were servants everywhere and they all treated them like they were an old married couple from the nobility, who needed everything done in a minute, and that was worse than whatever he'd imagined. Benvolio didn't feel at home like when he was at Merc's place. But then, he realised, Verona wasn't really home anymore.

Still, he had Mercutio with him, and that was enough. Together they could make fun of the manners they were supposed to adopt, and mock the uptight airs the servants took to address them – as if they lived in the fucking middle ages!

They also saw Romeo, who, to Ben's greatest surprise, managed to wait a whole hour before asking some embarrassing question. And when he finally did, all Benvolio had to do was ask about his own love life and how fared the cold Rosaline, and his cousin soon forgot his inquisitions. Even more surprisingly, Mercutio made no bitter remarks, and afterwards only commented that his cousin was funny. Sure, they would not become best friends, but at least his lover didn't hate all of his family. One embarrassing uncle was enough – although Mercutio's own cousin was no better.

 

Benvolio managed to convince Mercutio that going to the Prince's Christmas party dressed up as a reindeer would not do. Indeed Mercutio thought that the peace tentative was the silliest thing his uncle could've come up with, and was determined to ruin it; but when Benvolio had explained how he would be glad to see the fights stop for good, and would support any attempt at peaceful meetings, Mercutio had resolved to behave.

However funny in itself was the idea of Mercutio in a reindeer costume, he looked so good in a suit that Benvolio vowed to make him wear one more often. The ball room at the Palazzo was already swarming with people when they came in; from then it was an endless succession of saluting unknown people and chatting with relatives. Most of which, Benvolio could tell, disapproved of their relationship, even though they would not say it in public. His aunt made a point of embracing them in turn, to her husband's disgust, who'd have happily stayed away from them and ignored them the whole evening – but Lady Montague would have none of it, and when she dragged her husband with her, he had no other choice but to follow and smile. Afterwards, Mercutio whispered, grinning: “lucky there are Capulets around; surely he doesn't want to be the first one to throw a fit.”

Shortly after, Romeo made an appearance, and while Benvolio was talking with him – about Rosaline, for a change – his partner got monopolized by some old aunt. Soon Romeo's attention was caught by another young lady from the Capulet family, and he left Benvolio to talk and dance with her, so quickly that his cousin didn't get the chance to warn him.

Benvolio got himself a drink and leaned against a wall, happy to have some time to himself. He'd never much liked parties, and lacked the social skills that made it so easy for Mercutio – he was always afraid to say something wrong, and could not, as some would, talk about the weather for hours to avoid important subjects. This one ball was so very important for the future of his family – and the city itself – that he was even more afraid to screw up involuntarily. He tried to relax as he surveyed the room.

Ladies Capulet and Montague were chatting and laughing together – he would never have suspected it but they were thick as thieves – while their husbands were talking to the Prince (and avoiding talking to each other, which was quite comical); Romeo was dancing away with the Capulet girl; Paris had tried to intercept her but had soon lost interest when she avoided him; he was now trying to engage in conversation with other fine, rich young ladies, or generally talk to everyone about anything; hopping around as he went, running into people as a way to introduce himself, and behaving like a precious baby; he hadn't even noticed he'd lost the huge, ridiculous bow that kept his hair together – that is, his wig, because not a week ago at school he'd had short hair. Benvolio couldn't understand why one would suffer to wear a wig and an eccentric costume – bows and glitter everywhere – when a suit would have done just fine. He sighed and shook his head.

“I know, right?”

Benvolio stood up in surprise, almost spilling his drink. Tybalt was standing next to him, and he hadn't heard him approach. Most curious of all, the young man didn't seem about to attack him nor say something hurtful. He leaned against the wall, much like Benvolio before. But Ben wouldn't let his guard down, he knew him too well for that.

“Relax, I won't attack you!” How could he know so precisely what he'd been thinking? “Sorry I startled you.”

Tybalt Capulet apologizing was new. He probably should apologize for much more than that, considering, but Benvolio would take this small victory – not that he had nothing to do with it – and be content with it. He'd never been angry at him, not really: he knew that he'd just been doing what he'd been taught to; and they were so young last time they saw each other... They'd just been kids pulled in a fight that was much bigger than them.

He leaned back against the wall, keeping his eyes on Paris not to look at Tybalt, lest it'd be taken as a sign of mistrust. He wouldn't bet Tybalt had changed so much that he would not feel offended if Benvolio kept an eye on him. Even so, from the corner of his eye he could see Tybalt look at him, and that was disturbing. Why would he even talk to him? They'd never had anything in common but their families' quarrels.

Paris was now all over Capulet Senior, practically running around the old man who tried to get rid of him to move through the crowd. Benvolio hardly repressed a chuckle.

“It's a wonder he's not yet in a zoo,” Tybalt commented.

There was a silence, as Benvolio didn't know what to answer to that.

“Truth is,” Tybalt went on, “you landed the only decent Della Scala in the room.”

Benvolio turned towards him, Paris suddenly forgotten, and gaped at him. Was he implying...? Mercutio had a few objectively gorgeous cousins, most of them quite witty young women, from what he saw... But come to think of it it wasn't so incredible – or was it? At least it was the last thing Benvolio was expecting, but then chances were Tybalt was mocking him, as he'd always done, even when they'd been friends – trying to make him believe things to rail him for it afterwards. Benvolio chose to joke on the subject. That, at least, wouldn't hurt.

“I landed the only decent man in the room.”

He realised as he said it just how offensive his words were – although they were probably true. But Tybalt stared back, no sign of anger on his features as he whispered, “I wouldn't say that.” In fact, he was slightly smiling.

Benvolio felt himself blushing and could have cursed. “You mean—”

But he got interrupted by Mercutio who was suddenly at his side, an arm around his waist, shamelessly pressing him against the wall to kiss him. When he pulled away, he turned to Tybalt, and spit, “oh, Prince of Cats, hadn't seen you here!”

Tybalt grumbled and made to leave.

“Oh, leaving us already? What a shame!”

“Yeah. Wouldn't wanna bother,” the other answered dryly.

Benvolio would have asked him to wait, but Mercutio caught his lips into another kiss, and when he pulled away the Capulet was effectively gone.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked. “What's he done, that you hate him so much?”

“I don't hate him,” Mercutio shrugged. “I just don't want him anywhere near you.”

“You... know?”

“What?” he stared for a moment. “Oh, that he's _gay_ you mean? Of course I know! Didn't you?”

“No, I didn't, and we might not have been in the best of terms in the last couple of years but I still know him enough to assume he wouldn't say that to _anyone_.”

Mercutio grinned. “Nah, you don't have to be jealous—”

“Not jealous, simply curious as to how you could know what a man as private as him would certainly consider his biggest secret.” Benvolio smiled. “Although I think I can guess.”

But they were interrupted again by some old relative, and then found themselves busy sorting an issue involving Romeo and the nice girl he'd danced with all night, who turned out to be Capulet's daughter. To the old men's shame, the two had been found making out in the hallway by a bewildered Paris looking for his bow.

The evening ended with the two of them dragging Romeo away from the party to avoid a greater scandal – the last Benvolio saw of Tybalt, he was arguing with Juliet. Ben overheard Rosaline's name, and he knew Tybalt was trying to dissuade his cousin – and he could not hold that against him, he'd have done just the same – but she seemed quite stubborn. Well, hopefully, he and Mercutio could reason with Romeo and avoid an even greater scandal – but he could see that he was deluding himself; Romeo had never let go of an idea, and when he had a crush it was all he could think about... if the lady shared his feelings, that would be the end of that frail peace the Prince had created.

They had Romeo swear he would not seek her out, but they both knew how useless that was. Mercutio did not even _want_ to convince Romeo otherwise, because he, as he told Benvolio afterwards, wouldn't have listened to anyone when Benvolio was concerned, and besides, that would only make Romeo want her more if he was faced with disapproval.


	4. Chapter 4

When they arrived home, Benvolio flopped on the couch and let out all his worries. He'd seen this too many times; it'd turn into a bloodbath in no time! Suddenly all he wanted was to leave the city – go back to their comparatively quiet life in Mantua, and forget all about this.

Mercutio brought him a cup of tea and took him in his arms – he felt better that way, safer, but it still wasn't that.

“Don't worry, love, it's just your cousin being silly, it'll be over in a few days, and we'll be laughing about it in a couple of years! That Capulet girl looks sensible, she won't stay with him very long!”

Benvolio chuckled, distracted for a moment. “You're very mean to my cousin, though.”

“Well, he doesn't mind.”

“That's because he doesn't understand...”

“Maybe.”

They stayed like that for a moment, until Benvolio said: “you don't understand, you've never been in the fights.”

Mercutio looked wounded. “It doesn't mean I can't—”

“I know... It's just... I know them, and even if I want to think you're right, I'm sure Tybalt will jump at the opportunity, and shit will start all over again.”

Mercutio laughed at that and, confronted to Ben's puzzled expression, he kissed him lightly and explained: “I don't think he'll try anything. He wants to get into a certain Montague's pants too much.”

“You mean Romeo? It didn't look like he—”

He was interrupted by Mercutio's laughter. “No, no, I think he'd leave him to his cousin if it came to that. No, you, silly! I'll have to be careful now...”

“Nonsense!” R _eally?_ “I bet you're seeing things because you can't stand him and you need a reason to.”

“I assure you I'm not making it up – I've seen him look at you and—”

Benvolio interrupted him: “and I've seen you look at him. Now will you tell me why you dislike him so much, and just why he told you he's gay if...”

“He's a jerk, and I don't want him anywhere near you.”

Mercutio rarely talked like that of anyone, if anything he'd usually make fun of people in these situations, even of himself – that only piqued Benvolio's curiosity. “You didn't mind having him near you, once, I guess? what happened?”

Mercutio grumbled. “Why'd you wanna know?”

“Well...” He put his cup down on the coffee table, taking his time to answer, careful to choose the right words, as it seemed a delicate topic with Mercutio. “Because I'm interested in anything that concerns you, and you've never made a mystery of your sex life, so I find it intriguing, I want to know what's so special about him. Although I won't push you if you don't want to tell me. And also because he and I once were friends, and he might be rash and violent all you want, but he's also got a certain sense of honour, or so I thought – that is I can hardly imagine him screwing you over.”

“You're very much mistaken if you think that – but then again, you're always nice with everyone, you can't see the bad in people, so I shouldn't be astonished.”

“Then tell me?”

He settled more comfortably on the couch, and Mercutio let his head fall on his shoulder. He was quiet for a long moment; a silence that Benvolio refused to break.

When Mercutio spoke again, it was in a weird tone of voice, punctuated by nervous laughter, as if he was trying to make this into a joke, or show how light-hearted he was – and failed completely. “We shagged each other a while back – no big deal, really. No-one knew, because – you know – like you said – he's quite private – and I didn't want to create a scandal or anything – the Prince would've killed me. Except rumors got around – and then it was heavily suggested that I should find myself a school or something, far from here, so I wouldn't be the centre of attention so much – because you know – it doesn't show well on the family. Those fuckers.” Mercutio relaxed a bit against Benvolio; words seemed to come more easily. “Anyway. I had to leave – I wanted to leave, too — to get as far as possible from those assholes. But Tybalt, you know – we were quite exclusive, so I thought at least we could keep in touch. I left last June – he wouldn't come with me of course – but that was okay – so we started corresponding. You know me, those weren't cute messages that'd give you cavities... Well guess what? they got leaked. They were all over Verona! I don't even know how you're not aware of that – I was afraid that it'd backfire when we were together at first – even before, I thought you knew and you'd never want some depraved guy like me.”

“I had no clue.”

“Yeah, I guess you don't read the tabloids and your cousin was too busy chasing skirts to tell you. But you know what's worse? _He_ did this – can't be anyone else. His didn't get leaked. Anyone with a bit of sense would have sent both – more scandal, more everything – but _he_ would have protected his privacy at all costs...”

That was a shock – Benvolio had trouble believing it – yet he knew Mercutio wouldn't make that up. He could feel his pain, saw the remnants of feelings he'd had for that other man – and how hurt he'd been by that treason. But there must have been a misunderstanding. He remembered Tybalt's words at the party – _the only decent Della Scala_ – that didn't sound like someone who would mercilessly publish details of Mercutio's sex life. There must have been a misunderstanding.

“You confronted him about it?” he asked gently.

“Why? Show him just how much it affected me? Make a fool of myself some more? No, of course not! I have my pride, you know?”

Benvolio took his face in his hands. “You never thought that maybe it was a mistake? Maybe it wasn't him?”

“Yeah... I did. Every day for a while, it was nagging at me – but I couldn't go back, and I wouldn't have trusted anything he could've said anyway. No matter how much I tried to convince myself, there's no way it wasn't him. And then... Then I found you... And I forgot about him completely.” He kissed Benvolio, almost shyly, as if he were afraid these revelations would change things between them.

“Not completely, though.” Benvolio had to say it.

Mercutio looked contrite. His arms tightened around Ben's waist. “I love you, Benny, I don't want to lose you!”

“And I'm not letting you go anywhere! It's not at all what I was saying. I'm very much aware that you've got a history, but that never affected us. I just... I see how much it upsets you, and you won't be able to let go unless you know for sure. And... I like him, too. He looked very much affected by the way you treated him. He doesn't deserve to be punished over and over again for something he might not have done.”

Mercutio seemed to agree, although he didn't say it in so many words. After that, Mercutio started speaking of different things – Mantua, art, this or that friend they hadn't seen in a long time – and Benvolio didn't broach the subject again.


	5. Chapter 5

Benvolio thought everything would be back to normal. It probably would have been if they hadn't crossed paths with Tybalt the next morning, as they were idly walking on the piazza together.

The young man was infuriated, clearly in a hurry, and careful to keep his distance when he called, “have you seen your cousin?” to Benvolio.

“You'll find the likes of Paris in the brothels if you want an easy fuck, Capulet!” answered Mercutio in his stead.

Benvolio sighed. Of course once he'd laid eyes on Tybalt, all the good resolutions Mercutio might have had disappeared. There would be trouble. Again.

“You seem very well informed! If I were your lover, I'd be careful. You're not known for your steadiness, after all!”

Benvolio had to step between them, lest they kill each other. “You're looking for Romeo?” he tried to ask as calmly as possible.

But Mercutio couldn't help but chide: “You do know he's only into ladies, right? I'm well aware you're barely a man, but you lack some important parts.” He mimed breasts. “He'd fuck your pretty cousin without giving it a second thought, but you...”

This time Benvolio had to put a hand on Tybalt's shoulder to keep him from jumping at Mercutio's throat. He could feel him tense at the contact, but it effectively stopped him. Before Mercutio could say anything, he turned completely to face Tybalt, and let go of his shoulder. At least he hoped Tybalt was as clever as he remembered – or enough not to act on an impulse: he probably had a weapon or two on him, a habit from years of fighting; but they were in front of the Palazzo and if they didn't get killed first they'd all end up in jail.

“I don't know where he is. What's he done this time?”

Tybalt frowned. “None of your business. I need to see him.”

“Come on. I'm his cousin, I know how stupid he can get. You should let me handle it.”

“Like you handled him yesterday night? yeah, worked out great! That's why I saw him sneak out of Jule's room in the middle of the night! Now if you let me—”

Benvolio sighed. That was something Romeo was capable of... was he so thick that he couldn't see how it'd only spark things off... “Alright, look, calm down. I understand, I'd be pissed too if our roles were reversed. But there's not much you can do, right? The more you'd yell at him or even hit him, the more he'd think he's right to press on. And she seems more than capable to handle him herself too. Maybe you—”

But once again Mercutio didn't let him finish. “Why do you even bother, heh, kitten?”

Tybalt's gaze went from Mercutio to Ben and back, and he looked straight at Mercutio when he said, flatly: “Because I don't want her to get her heart broken.” With that, he turned around to leave, but Mercutio wouldn't let it go unanswered.

“Oh, it suits you well to talk of broken hearts!”

Benvolio closed his eyes and whispered, “stop that, please, you're hurting yourself.” He tried to drag Mercutio away.

But Tybalt had already turned back. “Yes,” he spat, “I believe I know enough about being used by someone and then dumped when they're not interested anymore.”

“Guys, guys, guys,” Benvolio tried to stop them once again. “Please, everyone's looking, we don't want to make a scene.”

“Oh, they can look all they want! I don't have anything to hide! I used to, but then _someone_ thought it was okay to give it out to whoever wanted it! Now why shouldn't _I_ return the favour?!”

Benvolio would've slapped Mercutio so he'd stop... but whatever reaction he was expecting from Tybalt, it was certainly not for him to turn away and just... leave. Mercutio seemed surprised by that, too – as if it had shook him and he suddenly realised the extent of everything he'd said so far. Ben gestured for him to run after Tybalt, but that elicited no reaction. Mercutio was dumbstruck.

“Oh, for fuck's sake!” Benvolio left him there, hoping that he'd follow, and tried to catch up with Tybalt.

 

 

“But you did catch up with him, right?”

His niece's voice brought Benvolio back to reality – to Mercutio and Tybalt, sat on either side of him; wincing at the bad memories. Those weren't their proudest moments.

He smiled at the girl – Romeo and Juliet's daughter, now almost as old as they'd all been back then – and went on with his story.

 

 

He had caught up with Tybalt just as he was about to get into his car ; and put his hand on Tybalt's shoulder to make him turn around.

“Get off me! This is none of your business!” but Benvolio could see that he wasn't really angry – not at him, at any rate – just incredibly upset, and Tybalt had always hated weakness, and showing his own emotions even more; afraid of a betrayal he knew too much about. “Just... go back to him and leave me be, okay?”

“Okay, wait a minute.” He closed the car door and leaned against it so Tybalt would have no choice but to listen. Well, he could have just shoved him away, of course, but Benvolio didn't think it likely. “First, even if it was none of my business, there's no way I'm letting you drive like that. Second, yeah, it _is_ my business, you know? I'm with Mercutio. I do care. And this thing between you, it hurt you both. And whatever happened since, I like to believe we once were friends. And I care about you too, I do.”

Benvolio didn't know exactly where he was going with that, but above all he wanted Tybalt to listen. By then Mercutio had caught up with them too, but he didn't seem about to interrupt – probably because he saw how it affected Ben, or maybe he was just tired of fighting.

“Well, you see,” Tybalt said, his voice shaking, “you can't make everything OK. You can't side with both on this.”

He tried to open the door again, but Benvolio just had to put his hand on his arm to stop him. Trying to forget just how close they were, Benvolio said, “I'm not taking any sides. I just think there's been a huge misunderstanding.” Tybalt was about to say something, but he was faster: “you never leaked those emails, did you?”

Benvolio was very much aware that Mercutio was watching them carefully when understanding dawned on Tybalt, mixed with disgust.

“What? What emails? No! You thought...” He looked at Mercutio. “You thought it was me?”

“Of course I thought it was you!” Mercutio snapped. “And it _was_ wasn't it? You just don't want to admit it in front of Ben, but it was – who else could it be?”

“What? _No!_ Why would you think that? No, don't blame it on me, _you_ 're the fucker who stopped answering my emails!”

Benvolio once again had to step between them. Thankfully, they weren't yelling for the whole town to hear, this time. Rather, they were hissing and taunting each other, and it somehow made it worse.

“Oh, to give you more material to use against me? Yeah, of course, why did I not think about it? Such a _great_ idea!”

“For the last time,” Tybalt articulated, “I did not send these.” He breathed slowly and tried to calm himself down. “I have no clue how it got leaked. I don't see what it's got to do with this. But I was worried, you know that? When you stopped answering suddenly. Not picking up phone calls, nothing. Quite a fucked up way to let someone know it's over, don't you think?”

“You... never thought the emails were the cause?” Benvolio asked. This was insane!

“No, I don't read that kind of papers, just so you know.” He locked eyes with Mercutio. “I didn't... I heard about it a few weeks after, from my uncle. It never even occurred to me that those were _our_ emails until today. Then I just assumed you had found someone else and never got the balls to tell me – that those were emails you exchanged with that person and as they got published you thought I heard and didn't want to face me.”

“How could you think I'm such a coward?”

“How could you think I'm such a bastard that I would be with you just to publish a few controversial emails?”

Benvolio couldn't repress a laugh.

“Point taken,” Mercutio said.

It was weird, to say the least – and upsetting. Benvolio had no clue what would happen from then on; he was glad that they'd made up... but at the same time, if it weren't for that misunderstanding, he'd have never ended up with Mercutio; he would not give him up for the world. But then there was Tybalt, and the feelings he was almost sure Mercutio still had for him. And if he should be honest with himself, he didn't know what kind of feelings himself harboured for the Capulet.

As an awkward silence settled in, he felt compelled to say, “you two are equally stupid, anyone ever told you that?”

Mercutio laughed, and slipped an arm around his waist, saying he knew very well, before he kissed his temple. Benvolio could feel him refrain from more contact, and he knew it was for Tybalt's sake, but he was grateful. He didn't want the situation to get even more awkward. But they could not just leave like that. As it was almost midday, he suggested they grab a beer somewhere and chat – any bar would be better than the central piazza.

“Thanks, but no – maybe another time. I still have to find your cousin and teach him some manners, remember?”

Benvolio sighed. Again. Why did they have to do that?

“Why don't you go and have a talk with your cousin first? See that you know what _she_ wants, before you do anything stupid?”

Benvolio was fairly sure he could talk Tybalt out of a fight, given time. Unfortunately, Romeo chose this exact moment to interrupt. Benvolio spot him over Tybalt's shoulder; he was on the other side of the street, and Ben prayed he would not see him, but he did, and waved at him as he crossed the street.

“Eh, Ben, you won't believe it, I...” But then Tybalt turned around, and when Romeo saw him his voice died out. “hum, never mind,” he said, changing his course, “I'll talk to you later.”

“Wait, Romy, you don't come and say hi?” Mercutio called, mocking, as Benvolio let out a “please don't do anything stupid” that only Tybalt could hear.

“Well, I just remembered I have a meeting, I'll see you later...”

“Romeo, can we talk to you for a moment?” Benvolio asked. “I'm sure your phantom meeting can wait for a bit.”

It would be better if they settled this now, he thought. In the open, on the piazza, where everyone could see – because if Tybalt ever found himself alone with Romeo, well, there was no saying how violent he could get. Ben liked him, he really did – but that didn't erase the fact that Tybalt was impulsive, and very much set on protecting his family. As Romeo approached carefully – obviously conscious that he'd done something wrong enough that a Capulet might assault him in public despite the Prince's edict – he saw Tybalt tense...

 

 

“...But you didn't attack Dad, did you, Uncle?”

Tybalt laughed. “Not... Not really? Not at that point, anyway.”

“You'd know if you let Benny finish his story!” Mercutio interrupted.

 

 

Benvolio decided to confront Romeo before Tybalt took it upon himself. “Does the exciting thing you wanted to tell me have anything to do with Juliet Capulet?”

Romeo turned white. “We...Well... Yeah...” He looked sheepishly at Tybalt. “That is...”

“C'mon, Montague, you better say it.” Tybalt growled. “I don't have much patience for the likes of you.”

Romeo, under close scrutiny, stammered that he was in love with Juliet, and that she loved him too, and that he was thinking of asking her hand in marriage. Mercutio burst out in a fit of giggles, and Tybalt was too dumbstruck to even answer.

Once Benvolio recovered enough to actually speak, he said, “We're... in the twenty-first century, you're aware of that, I hope?”

“Yes, why?” asked Romeo. As he realised that no-one would try to kill him, his carefree tone gradually came back.

“You two could actually date, before rushing into anything stupid.”

And so Benvolio talked Romeo out of it; and considering what was just avoided, Tybalt had no choice but to admit that it was reasonable for the Montague and Juliet to date.

“ _However_ this in no way allows you to creep in and out of our house. If I spot your again in our gardens or anywhere near her room at night, trust me, I won't give a shit that it'll break my cousin's heart if I break your neck! Same goes if you hurt her in any way!”

“I suppose I have your blessing, then!” Romeo answered, and with that he was gone, oblivious to Tybalt's rage.

“C'mon,” Mercutio put his arms over both Tybalt and Benvolio's shoulders in a familiar way. “Let's have a drink, I think we all deserve it.”

This time Tybalt didn't protest.

 

 

As Benvolio had stopped, his niece asked, “that's it? that's all?”

“Well, that's when Tybalt started to hang around with us, yeah... from then on... Well, I don't know, I think it was quite progressive?” Benvolio turned to his partners for approval.

“Oh, that's because you don't want to mention Rosa's graduation party!”

Mercutio blushed. “Do we have to?”

“What graduation party?”


	6. Chapter 6

Tybalt didn't really know what he was doing anymore. He liked the guys' company but it wasn't enough. Seeing them together was an every-day reminder of his screw-up; he sometimes dreamt that none of this had happened and he was still with Mercutio – but he had to admit he wasn't indifferent to Benvolio either, and he didn't want to hurt him. He was being so nice (and Tybalt hadn't exactly given him reasons to be, considering...); always trying to include him; never saying anything hurtful; mindful of his behaviour with Mercutio when Tybalt was there. But sometimes it just made things worse. Made him feel even more lonely. He wished he could've just moved on after their reconciliation. But he wasn't sure he could have. Wasn't sure he wanted to think of a time without Benvolio's warm smile or Mercutio's witty remarks.

They had to go back to Mantua, eventually, while Tybalt stayed in Verona. He could not find any plausible excuse to go there – and he wanted his sanity back; he thought that if he stopped seeing them... But it wouldn't work, of course. He felt more miserable than ever; and the guys with whom he usually hung out could not understand – and now Juliet was oh-so-happy, beaming and talking about Romeo and he didn't dare tell her off because she was so young and sweet and he wouldn't want to hurt her.

Only Rosa understood him. They would not talk much but she'd be there, and he knew her well enough not to assume she pitied him. They'd just sit in silence and sip their coffee, or she'd put an arm over his shoulder and hold him close; and that was all he needed, no advice or comforting words because there were none, none that could work and he didn't want to explain his situation so that someone else would detail arguments he already had with himself, and solutions he already ruled out.

He wasn't even sure she knew why he felt so bad lately, until the year drew to a close and she started talking about her graduation party. He'd seen the guys in passing during the Easter holidays, and they'd apologized that they couldn't stay long, for whatever reason he forgot as soon as it was uttered; he barely had had news since then. He figured they were living their lives and forgot about him – but he couldn't bring himself to move on.

Then one day Rosaline barged in and starting enumerating the guests she'd just _have to_ have at her party.

“So there will be all our cousins, Valentio told me he could come, in the end. And Juliet will be there, so I have to extend it to Romeo – and I thought, maybe I could invite Benvolio, what do you think? You know him better than me, maybe you could ask?” She looked like an overexcited puppy.

“Why would you invite him, if you say yourself that you don't know him?”

“Well...” She was looking for the right word, he knew what conversation would follow, and he wasn't ready for this; he'd have thought that she at least respected his privacy and wouldn't have... He was about to yell, but he wasn't expecting what she said next.

“You see, I've met this one guy, Valentine,” she blushed, “and I'd like to invite him, but you know, I don't want it to be weird, so I figured if Mercutio were to come too, it wouldn't feel like I invited him in particular, since his brother would be here, and... well, at least he wouldn't be the only Della Scala. And I know you and Mercutio are friends, or however you want to call your relationship. T-t-t-t, don't tell me, I don't wanna know, that's your life, I'm not asking. But you see, I don't want to have to invite Paris, so if _you_ invite Benvolio, of course he can come with his partner, and I can invite Val, it won't look like I invited the whole Della Scala family but him.”

He sighed. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Yes! Thank you! You're awesome! I owe you one!” She gave him a peck on the cheek and ran off.

Her story was a bit far-fetched, and maybe she did have something in mind for him, but he realised he didn't really care. And for all the times she'd been there for him, he couldn't refuse her that.

He didn't know how to ask without sounding weird, but he was almost sure that they'd refuse anyway, so he sent Benvolio a simple email – not that he didn't spend way too much time on the wording, or hesitating whether to send it or not. But to his surprise, they agreed to come.

 

That evening, he tried not to show his impatience as they didn't arrive; he was fidgeting with his glass and trying not to look at the door too often; his uncle was chaperoning the party, and he didn't want him to find out. It would be awkward enough without the familiar disapproving glare of his uncle on top of it.

They came to him right after greeting Rosa – in fact, lost in his thoughts, he didn't even notice them until Mercutio whispered in his ear, “why are we brooding for, tonight, Prince of Cats?”

Tybalt startled and turned around, only to be met by Mercutio's bright smile and Benvolio's reassuring one – and he couldn't help but smile in return. They settled down on a couch to talk; after a moment Mercutio disappeared to get himself another drink, and forgot to come back. They both assumed he'd found someone to talk to; of course his brother was there too, whom he hadn't seen in a very long time, and he probably wanted to chat with him for a bit. They didn't pay it any mind and kept chatting – that is, until Benvolio's face took on a worried look, and before Tybalt could ask what was going on, he felt cold hands on his neck.

He had to stop a very drunk Mercutio from kissing him, or undressing him, or both, he wasn't quite sure. He looked over at Ben, who was frozen in his seat. “Help?”

Benvolio shook himself, and together they dragged Mercutio outside for him to get some fresh air and so that he wouldn't embarrass himself too much. Which wasn't easy, considering that when drunk Mercutio was very handsy. More than usual anyway. When they stumbled out under the porch, Benvolio was already apologizing and assuring him that they'd just leave in a heartbeat and he was sorry if Rosaline was angry or... Tybalt was about to interrupt him when he noticed that his uncle was there, smoking quietly; he surveyed the scene and met his nephew's eyes with disapprobation.

Benvolio probably noticed Tybalt looking behind his shoulder, because he turned around and immediately saluted the old man, ignoring Mercutio who was breathing in his neck. But Capulet paid him no mind.

“What's this tramp doing here?”

Tybalt just stared, not sure who was the target or how to answer him. Benvolio was looking at them in turn, not sure how to react either, while Mercutio was oblivious to all this and happily playing with Ben's hair.

“I asked you a question, nephew. What is he doing here?”

“They're my friends, as you well know,” he answered defiantly. “You saw him come in and said nothing. Besides, Benvolio is Romeo's cousin and Mercutio is the Prince's nephew – and both Rosa's guests. How can you—”

“Don't take me for a fool. You'll bring shame to our family. You already barely avoided the scandal last time and—”

“ _What_?” He hissed. He felt Benvolio's hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. It wasn't the first time he did that, but this time it didn't have the usual soothing effect; he just shrugged it off and walked over to his uncle. “ _How do you know?_ ”

He wasn't even yelling, but his uncle didn't look very confident all of a sudden – his mouth twitched nervously, yet he answered in a casual tone. “Come on, it was all over the papers, you don't expect me not to have—”

“Except it wasn't. Mercutio was. If there had been any mention of me, any possible link, they'd have jumped on it. So _how do you know?_ ”

They were inches apart now, but his uncle didn't flinch. “What, d'you expected me to sit back and watch you ruin our family's reputation? Juliet's prospects, my own business, all would have been ruined by your selfishness! I only did what was—”

Tybalt punched him before he could finish. It was immensely satisfying. In fact he'd have dealt him a few others if Benvolio hadn't dragged him away.

But Mercutio didn't seem to want to follow them, even when Ben tugged on his arm; Tybalt couldn't say how lucid Mercutio still was, or how much of the conversation he'd understood, but he harboured a sly smile – and Tybalt wouldn't stop him if he wanted to hit his uncle. But Mercutio loomed closer to Capulet, and smooched him. The old man was too shocked to react, even when Mercutio patted him on the shoulder and said, his speech hampered by alcohol: “don't believe this is over, sweetheart. you know how Veronese hold grudges.”

Then he sauntered away, followed by Benvolio and Tybalt. If Rosaline saw them leave, she didn't say anything.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“I still can't believe it,” Tybalt said, as he flopped down on the couch.

They had walked in relative silence to the guys' appartment – that is, they half carried half dragged Mercutio throughout the city –; then Benvolio had tucked Mercutio to bed with a kiss and the promise to join him soon.

He placed a mug of coffee in Tybalt's hands, who welcomed the comforting warmth; and sat by his side.

“I just don't understand,” Tybalt said again. He sounded whiny even to his own ears, and cursed himself.

But of course Benvolio had comforting words for him – when did he not? –They went over what had happened; multiple times as Tybalt puzzled over it – and Ben tried to reconcile himself with the idea that there is not necessarily good in everyone. At no point did he try to find excuses for the old Capulet, even though he wanted to understand his reasons. Tybalt once more marvelled at the fact that Benvolio drew no happiness from what had happened – he must have known that he'd never have gotten with Mercutio were it not for that scandal, yet he seemed genuinely sorry that their relationship had ended. But Benvolio was an enigma he did not think he could solve. So much care and gentleness should not have been allowed in one person.

As the night went on and his coffee grew cold, they ended up sharing memories of their childhood. He must have fallen asleep at some point, and Benvolio must not have dared move for fear that it would wake him up; because when he opened his eyes, light was seeping through the curtains, he was still on the couch, and had his head on Ben's lap. He startled up and felt his body ache from not enough sleep and too much time spent in an uncomfortable position.

Someone had put a blanket over him. Before he could even ask himself how that happened, his eyes met Mercutio's. He was sprawled in the armchair opposite the couch, a leg hooked over the armrest, and grinning at him through the steam coming from what must be a cup of tea.

He was about to tell him just how creepy that was, but Mercutio hushed him before he could say a word, pointing at the sleeping form of Benvolio.

“We should wake him up, though,” Tybalt whispered, “he's gonna be all stiff.”

“You bet!”

“I guess you're not hungover enough not to make those jokes,” he sighed.

Mercutio winced. “My head's splitting. Still, doesn't mean I can't spot innuendos.”

“Or make them up.”

“While others were making _out_.”

“You know you're making that up too,” he said, trying to keep his voice down. “And coming from the guy who kissed my uncle, that's cheeky.”

Mercutio's eyes widened. “I what?” he exclaimed, and Benvolio stirred. “Shit. Wait, you're making that up too, right?”

“I'm afraid not, but you can ask Ben if you don't believe me.”

“Eh? Ask me what?” Benvolio clearly wasn't a morning person. And sleeping sitting on the couch hadn't improved that.

“Nah, don't worry. He's just forgotten what happened last night.”

Benvolio grinned at Mercutio. “Just how much do you think you've forgotten?”

“Kissing old Capulet, apparently. Should be all – if I had made out with any other Capulet, Tybalt here would have killed me. Not to mention I would have been the one sleeping on the couch. About that...”

Tybalt blushed. And he also had the feeling that Benvolio would not let Mercutio believe that was all that happened.

“We talked. And fell asleep, apparently.”

“Doesn't explain why you were here in the first place—” Mercutio started, and Tybalt felt a pang of hurt: he hadn't thought Mercutio would resent him for that. “I thought you'd have stayed, what with your cousin's party and everything.”

“Someone had to help me carry you home, silly!” Benvolio laughed.

“And I punched my uncle. I was not exactly welcome there after that.”

“What, because I kissed him? really?”

“It... happened the other way around.”

They told him. And they had barely finished that Mercutio had sprung from his seat to the door, visibly to give Capulet a piece of his mind now that he was sober. Benvolio made to move, but Tybalt was quicker to run after him, and so Benvolio flopped back onto the couch, trying to find a better position for his aching back.

 

 

“You spent your time running after one another...”

“Well, sweetheart, that's because you have two impulsive uncles.”

 

 

It ended with Tybalt dragging Mercutio back to the living room and throwing him on the couch, where he collided with Benvolio – who just laughed and draped an arm around his shoulders, just enough to dissuade him to leave.

Suddenly Tybalt was left standing there, not knowing what to do – he felt like he was intruding on something private, even if that made no sense; and all he wanted was to leave.

“Don't look at us like that,” Benvolio said, effectively interrupting his thoughts. “C'mon, sit down, I'll make some coffee.”

He gently pushed Mercutio from him to get up, and disappeared into the adjoining kitchen. Tybalt hesitated an instant, until Mercutio smiled, “you heard the guy – sit down, or you'll get scolded.”

Tybalt gave in and sat down next to him. The couch was big enough that they weren't touching, but it still felt too close for comfort.

“Speaking from experience?” he asked with a grin. However ill at ease he was, he better not show it. Mercutio was too good at picking those kind of clues.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Mercutio smiled. He distractedly put an arm on the back of the couch, behind Tybalt – as if it were the most natural thing to do. Of course he took it off, awkwardly, as soon as he realised – but there was something indescribable in the way he looked at Tybalt, that made his heart miss a beat. Memories rushed back, of a long time ago when they were still together.

Benvolio's steps, as he came back with a coffee pot and mugs, humming an unknown tune, startled him.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he handed him a mug.

He said yes, and hid his face in his mug. It didn't help that Mercutio pressed himself closer to him to leave Ben some space on the couch.

“You seem concerned,” Benvolio insisted. “What do you intend to do now? I told you, you can stay here if you don't want to go back there.”

Mercutio seemed astonished that Ben would have made this offer without first asking him, but he clearly wasn't angry. Still, it didn't make things any easier for Tybalt.

“I won't stay. I won't intrude. I...”

“You're not intruding,” Mercutio stated, and it felt even worse coming from him. Knowing that both would welcome him in their lives, being the friends he'd never really had – and he felt so angry at himself for wanting more than that, something he knew he could never have, that was not for him, that would make them all miserable.

He breathed out slowly to try and calm himself down. “I'll have to find my own place sooner or later anyway,” he reasoned, and he wasn't sure himself what he meant exactly.

“You can stay here,” Benvolio repeated. “We'll soon be back to Mantua, this place is empty more than half the year. You could make it your own.”

Tybalt was at a loss for words. “But... And... What about you guys?”

“Well then I'll know exactly where you are whenever I come by to nag you.” Mercutio nudged him.

“This is a palace, Tybalt,” Benvolio replied, ignoring Mercutio's antics, “there's enough space for all of us and half our families too. I think we can coexist if the two of you don't go about trying to kill each other again. think you could do that?”

Tybalt looked over at Benvolio, not sure what he should answer. He knew very well that whatever enmity existed between him and Mercutio had disappeared when the misunderstandings had been cleared out, but accepting their offer entailed more than he felt ready to deal with. And he could not explain it either, that was the heart of the problem. And Benvolio was clearly expecting an answer – looking slightly more worried with each passing second as he interpreted his silence otherwise.

But then suddenly, Mercutio laughed, “Come on, he's not asking you to marry him!”, which caused both Tybalt and Benvolio to cough up their drinks. Mercutio could not resist adding: “Oh, don't act like a blushing virgin! It's not like you haven't just slept together!” and threw an arm around Tybalt's shoulders to pat him. Except it did not have the expected effect, as Tybalt startled and spilled coffee all over himself. He quickly got up, uttering a mixture of apologies and swearings.

“You ok?” Benvolio automatically worried.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.” Well, at least the coffee was only lukewarm by now; and this time Mercutio had the good grace not to laugh at him.

“You just can't stay like that,” Ben said. “Come with me, I'll lend you some clothes.”

As Tybalt followed Benvolio, Mercutio called, “If you close the door behind you, I...” but when they both glared back at him, he spaced out, losing his words. “Gods, you too look so much alike!”

Tybalt exchanged a look with Ben, who seemed as astonished as he was. In the end he shrugged it off, and disappeared into their bedroom – Tybalt still too dumbfounded to follow – and brought him clothes, and also a huge, fluffy towel.

 

Tybalt was glad that they were all relatively the same size so the clothes he'd been given actually fit; but even then he felt so awkward! When he came out of the bathroom, Benvolio and Mercutio were on the couch again, close together and whispering to each other, all conspiratory. They looked up as he approached; Mercutio wearing his “I'm innocent” smile that Tybalt had learned to recognize.

He fancied he could also see behind that look a certain desire – and indeed Mercutio's eyes seemed to be concentrating on every one of his moves as he conscientiously dried his long hair with the towel so it did not get all tangled.

“What's going on?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

“What do you mean, _what's going on_?” Mercutio laughed it off. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Yes, of course. I should have guessed so.”

Right now, he just wanted to leave, to stop his brain from telling him that there might be something, when he knew that a mere second later Mercutio would say something that'd prove to him just how mistaken he was – how neither of them cared about him as much as he did for them. Only for his mind to race again at the first occasion.

He'd waited too long to put a much needed distance between them, but he'd tarry no longer. And seeing them together was getting more painful as he started to realise the extent of the feelings he had for Benvolio too. There was no way such a situation could end well, but he did not have to make it painful for them too.

He turned around to put the towel back to hang in the bathroom. He could not exactly give the clothes back now, seeing how his were stained, but the least he had to give back the better. He did not know where he'd go, maybe his cousin Valentio would be in town, so he could crash at his place. He did not care much about that. He just had to get out of here.

“You wouldn't be interested anyway,” Mercutio stated as Tybalt slowly closed the door to the bathroom, considering how to take his leave of them. “You'd much rather...”

His voice suddenly got muffled, and Tybalt turned around to see what was going on. Benvolio had his hand on Mercutio's mouth, who was trying to protest through his fingers such mistreatment. Ignoring his partner's complaint, he simply looked at Tybalt.

“We were thinking you could join us. In Mantua, I mean.”


	8. Chapter 8

“And you said yes, didn't you?”

“She keeps interrupting you,” Mercutio commented. “Looks like she doesn't want to hear you tell the story after all...”

“oh, uncle, pleaaaase?”

She sounded so much like her mother when she said that, Tybalt reflected.

“Alright.”

“So, did you? Say yes?”

“Well... not exactly.”

 

 

Tybalt was taken by surprise by the offer, and before he could answer, Benvolio went on: “Also I think you'd like to know, your phone's been ringing the whole time you were in the shower.”

“Oh.” He approached to grab the phone he'd left on the coffee table. “You should have picked up.”

“To say what?” Mercutio smirked, whom Benvolio had released. “Tybalt's phone, Mercutio speaking, no he can't talk to you right now, he's in my shower.”

Tybalt did not bother answering him, checking instead the couple missed calls he had received, and a few worried texts from his cousins. He called Rosaline – she was the one he owed an explanation to, after all, for leaving her party without so much as a warning.

“Tybalt? Where are you?” She was visibly worried – that is, worried enough that she was yelling at him through the phone. “Where have you gone? We've been looking for you, Juliet is frantic!”

“She's not the only one,” remarked Mercutio who must have overheard her.

“And who's that with you? Tybalt?”

He moved to the other end of the room to have some peace. “Yeah, I'm alright, sorry I worried you, I'm at Benvolio and Mercutio's place.”

“Oh. I see.” He could _hear_ her smile. “Well you could have at least said bye, that would have spared us a lot of worry.”

“No, you don't see,” he retorted, “he did not tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what? Who?”

Tybalt sighed. For the first time this morning, he recounted the events of the day before.

“I can't believe it! Still, you should have told me before you left! At least I could have reassured Juliet.” There was a silence, then: “what do you think you'll do now?”

“I have no idea,” he sighed.

“Look, we'll try to talk to auntie, alright? Maybe she can help!”

“Nah, I don't want to. Even if she were to help – I don't want anything from him.”

“Of course,” Rosaline said, “But he's got nothing to do with that! Come on, don't you think she's just living off his money! I'm sure she can help you herself if she so wish! You can't simply drop everything you're doing because you don't want anything to do with his money!”

“I'll have to think about it.” He then changed subjects, asking her about her evening. It had been her birthday, after all!

“Well it was alright. And I could have spent this morning in decent company if a certain cousin of mine had not disappeared.”

He did not need to ask her who she was talking about – he had probably ruined her plans with Valentine.

They talked for a while longer; when he hang up Mercutio commented from the sofa: “you're got a lot to think about!”

“Eh?”

“Told her you'd think about it. Told us you'd think about it... meanwhile, you're sleeping on the street tonight?”

This took him aback. This whole situation was still so disturbing, he had yet to get over his uncle's scheme, and all those things happening now, with Mercutio and Benvolio too – he had too many things to think about to be able to think effectively about his future.

Benvolio's sigh interrupted his thoughts. “You don't have to decide right now, silly! Doesn't mean we're gonna throw you out in the meantime! You'll stay here for tonight – and don't argue, you practically told your cousin that you would not go home, and you don't seem to have much idea what else to do.”

He made to object, but Benvolio went on before he could say anything: “and if all it takes for you to agree to that is for Mercutio to shut up, believe me, he will.”

And Mercutio did not seem too disgruntled by this new edict, instead making faces at them both to show that it would not hinder his usual exuberance.

 

 

“Hush, don't say anything, little girl, I know what you're about to ask.”

“Well, tell me then! Did you agree, in the end?”

“Yes, I did,” Tybalt answered his niece, watching her face as she expected him to elaborate on that.

“And? Did you _stay_? Come on, Tybalt, I want to know! You're taking _hours_ to tell me this story!”

“Well, you already know the ending, so all the fun's in what happened before.”

She pouted. “You sound like Mercutio!”

“Thank you for that.” Mercutio coughed.

“And _you_ , missy, sound like your father.”

“Alright, kids,” interrupted Benvolio. “Here's what happened. It's simple, really. He stayed at our place that night, and he never left.” He smiled.

“...And that's all?” their niece asked after a silence.

“Yup, pretty much.”

“Well it's no fun!”

“I thought I took too much time to tell the story?” Tybalt pointed out.

“Well...”

“We could always tell her the juicy bits!”

“Oh, no!” Benvolio exclaimed. “Nope, that's it, that's all there is to know.”

“But, Benny!”

“Don't 'Benny' me,” he smiled. “I've had years of training with your uncle, I'm immune to cute puppies going all 'but, Benny!'”

“But...” She took the time to think before asking, this time: “but how did you become... you know... more than just friends?”

“Well, I don't know, really. It just sort of happened. I think it was pretty clear from that point onwards, for all of us—”

“Except for Tybalt.” Mercutio interrupted, only to hide behind Benvolio when Tybalt glared at him.

“—pretty clear that this was more than friendship, for all of us. And since we were basically living together...”

“But what happened when you left for Mantua again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very short, sorry. More coming up soon!


	9. Chapter 9

Benvolio had felt terrible to leave Tybalt behind, but no matter how much he and Mercutio had insisted, their stubborn friend had refused to join them. Their arrangement had been a weird one, but over the summer he had grown accustomed to it, to Tybalt's presence and his frequent quibbles with Mercutio. Now the small appartment he shared with Mercutio in Mantua felt strangely quiet. And he knew his partner felt it just as bad as himself, if not worse. Had they really been wise to allow themselves that – to believe in something that would never realise itself.

He wasn't even sure what they were expecting, what they wanted from that strange relationship that had developed between them. But it sure did not feel right without Tybalt anymore. Even though they kept in touch as much as they could, meeting here or there at the weekends; it could not be the same. Maybe because there was never really anything, Benvolio told himself. Just a very deep friendship and his own imagination working too much. But then that was just what he'd thought about he and Mercutio at the beginning, right?

Then came the much unexpected invitations.

“Benvolio?” asked Mercutio as he perused the mail, and his slightly worried tone made Ben look up from his work to see what was wrong. “When did you last hear about your cousin?”

“I don't know, it was barely after we left Verona – why? Did anything happen?” Surely if it were the case his aunt would have called. Or at the very least sent an email. Whoever still bothered with letters in this day and age?

“Well, I think you did not warn him enough about being an idiot,” Mercutio replied, half bewildered half amused, as he made his way to Benvolio. He dropped a purple, glittery letter on the desk.

Ben picked it up, turning it suspiciously in his hands before he even looked at the card Mercutio had shoved back into the envelope. “What's... Oh.” Then after a pause: “Really?!”

“I'm not the one you should ask that to,” remarked Mercutio.

“Yeah, well. I'm not sure I really want to ask.” He looked up at Mercutio who was leaning against the desk, and took his hand. “He's not bothering _us_ after all.”

Mercutio smiled at him and kissed his hand. “Very true.” He chuckled. “I'd be curious to know how much it bothers their parents, though. There's gonna be a civil war in Verona...”

He had to say that, did he not? As if it were not the first thing Benvolio had thought about – as if he were not trying with all his might to ignore that fact... The unrest in Verona was precisely the reason why he had tried to stay away from the city. He'd had high hopes for the recent peace to last; and now he feared that if it started all over again he'd be pulled right back in with the rest of them. He suddenly felt a bit faint.

“Eh, Benny, I was joking!”

Mercutio leaned in to kiss him softly, but when he pulled away Benvolio held on to him.

“I just don't want to lose you!”

“Wh... You're not. What are you on about, Ben? It's gonna be ok! I know your cousin is very silly, but Tybalt's cousin looks like a sensible girl. She must have made sure it would be alright.” But it was clear to Benvolio that Mercutio was only saying that to comfort him.

“I have to call them.” But he was shaking too much to even get his phone out of his pocket.

“Eh, calm down, love. It's alright.”

Mercutio's cold hands framing his face had a slightly soothing effect – yet he still found it hard to breathe.

“There will be no more fightings. Come on.” Mercutio dragged him out of his chair and on the couch, and Benvolio let him, trusting him to be more cold-headed than himself for once.

When he finally felt calm enough, he called Romeo. It did nothing to reassure him, however. His cousin assured him that everything was alright; that his mother and future mother-in-law (his tone when he said that was almost sickening) were taking care of convincing their husbands, and that they were adults and did not need their consent anyway – nothing that made him sound like an actual adult about to make a lifelong commitment. He felt the need to point out that if he ever were to divorce Juliet, Capulet would definitely kill him, but then Romeo gave him that same speech he'd heard a dozen times about as many different ladies, on the eternal quality of true love and this and that... Nothing reassuring indeed.

He had to assure him that they would come, but he felt nervous at the idea of going back to Verona, with all the troubles that this announcement would soon create. The heirs of the two major families, going against everything their parents stood for and getting married? That would sure as hell make the headlines! And when everyone would know, the heads of both families would feel obligated to take drastic measures to demonstrate thir control over the situation – whatever the ladies Capulet and Montague were expecting to achieve would fail once the matter became public.

The afternoon, spent in Mercutio's company, had been distracting enough that he could put aside his worries for a while. But they never left him completely, and when Mercutio had to leave for that rehearsal on some tragedy he was working on, they all came back at him. After much pacing and feeling helpless, he tried calling Tybalt.

He did not really know what he would tell him, or what he expected him to say; in fact he hang up after the first ring, telling himself that this was the worst idea he ever had, and had he not told himself before, that this whole thing with Tybalt was a mistake and they all better keep their distances unless someone would get hurt, and... but this concerned Tybalt too, this whole thing... especially since he was still living in Verona; he'd be closest to the conflict, and certainly his uncle would expect him to participate if there were some sort of overt fighting... _Oh god!_ _No!_

He called again, and this time he forced himself to wait until Tybalt picked up.

“Yes?” he sounded intrigued, and worried.

Benvolio wondered for a second at how much he could hear in such a simple word – then he caught himself. There was a silence.

“Benvolio? Are you okay?”

Ben cursed himself for worrying him like that. “Have you heard?”

“What? Has something happened to Mercutio? Ben, you don't sound okay, what is it? Do you need me to come over?”

Benvolio refrained from giving a positive answer to this last question. “No, he... He's alright, he's just not here. I meant... My cousin. Juliet.”

There was a sigh. “Yeah... Is this why you're worried so much? I mean they're clearly a bit naïve, and I'm pissed, but...”

“I'm afraid, Tybalt,” he admitted. “I still remember Verona of a few years ago when every day was a fight. But those were just... stupid quarrels between servants. Boys. We were kids. But those fights were all too real and... If your uncle... There will be war. On the streets. We won't be safe anywhere. Not even here.”

“Shh, there will be no such thing! Your aunt and mine are working together together to make sure of that – along with the Prince. They're presenting it as a marriage of convenience, an alliance between the families. With the Prince supporting it, there's not much our uncles can do. And let me tell you I'm personally making sure no-one gets hurt in the process. This will all go perfectly. Well, as perfectly as can be with your cousin as the groom. Just make sure his best man behaves, and everything should be alright.”

“How do you want me to... It's Mercutio, isn't it? There was no mention of that in the invitation...”

“Something about asking him in person, I guess.”

Benvolio laughed. He had to admit Tybalt's reassuring words had a wonderful effect on him. He knew what he was doing, he was witnessing everything first-hand and, unlike Mercutio, he probably would not lie to him to make him think things were okay when they were not.

“This is gonna be a catastrophe!”

“I did tell them it was a bad idea. Romeo would not listen and Juliet could not possibly believe me. She's too sweet for her own good!”

“Well, let's not mention it until he's asked. I don't want to watch over an overexcited puppy for weeks on end.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay! It's the last part, hope you enjoy!

The marriage itself went on surprisingly well, but for a few awkward moments, like when Mercutio almost admitted to losing the ring, only to realise he'd left it to Benvolio's care – Benvolio who was glad he had brains for two.

Tybalt seemed surprisingly at ease with the fact that his dear cousin was marrying Romeo. Not that he did not make some passive aggressive comments, but nothing that either the bride or her groom could overhear. He clearly did not want to hurt Juliet. And in her white dress, she looked nothing like the teenager her cousin still thought her to be. The two of them were still very cute, though. Maybe they could all have ignored the grumbling old men, then – especially when the Ladies Montague and Capulet had done their best to make the day perfect, which probably included a whole bunch of threats to their husbands if they said anything against the match. Indeed maybe it could have gone down in history as the day both families were finally united, after decades of strife. It didn't.

At some point in the evening, when dinner was almost over and everyone was either chatting at their tables or dancing, Capulet spotted Rosaline at Valentine's arm and had to throw at them what he could not say to his own daughter. Nevermind that Valentine was not a Montague, but a Della Scala. The old man had visibly tried to drink enough to forget where he was and while that failed – how could he forget so stinging a wound – he was drunk enough that Valentine's name did not matter. He stumbled amidst the dancers – Tybalt remarked to Benvolio that his uncle looked every bit like Bacchus – and broke the couple apart, yelling at the young man that he would not let another one defile his niece. That already had Mercutio flying from his seat next to Romeo, to defend his brother. Someone, sensing trouble, had stopped the music, and in the silence that fell, before Mercutio even reached them, Rosaline called out: “too late for that.”

Tybalt smiled, visibly proud of his cousin. Until his uncle turned around and slapped her. Tybalt would have jumped to her defence as well if Benvolio had not caught him by the hand and forced him back into his chair.

“Let me _go_ ,” he let out between clenched teeth.

Before Ben could say anything, though, Valentine's fist had met Capulet's nose, and Mercutio found himself in an unenviable position, trying to restrain a drunken man twice his weight from punching his brother. Meanwhile, Rosaline got Val a few feet away, and once Romeo and Lady Capulet stepped in, the fight died out.

That is, until Montague thought it clever to yell at the other man: “Can't behave for an evening, can you?” His wife punching his shoulder did nothing to stop him. “Explains why you got a babysitter.” He nodded towards Lady Capulet. Benvolio sighed. That would not end well. Everyone had now got up and was watching the scene unfold, giving both men more encouragement than they needed already.

Tybalt chuckled. So did Mercutio, a few Montagues, and even Lady Capulet herself. Capulet did not enjoy the joke much, though; and he threw himself at his enemy, who happened to be on the other side of a table. Naturally, since Capulets aren't renowned for their flying abilities, he landed _on_ the table, which tilted and sent him to the floor, with everything else that was on it. It took three men to help him stand up. Lady Capulet took his arm and entreated him to leave: “alright, that's enough, we'll go now.”

But he was having none of that. “Don't tell me what to do, woman!” He freed his arm and pushed her away, but that did not deter her.

“I'm not _telling_ you, I'm _ordering you_. We're leaving. Since you do need a babysitter, you shouldn't be up so late.”

His protests could not dissuade her, on the contrary. She escorted him out, with the help of a few servants.

“Now you better behave, or it'll be just the same for you,” Benvolio overheard his aunt tell his uncle.

“Sorry about that, guys,” Valentine apologized to Romeo and Juliet.

“It's alright,” Juliet answered, holding on to her new husband. “Not your fault. And besides, it wouldn't be a meeting between Capulets and Montagues without a fight, right?”

“We're hoping to change that” muttered Romeo.

“We'll need something to tell our children, one day,” Juliet smiled, ignoring him. “Now we have anything but a boring marriage.”

“You could have let me take care of it, though,” Rosaline chided Valentine.

Tybalt smiled. His cousins were both very capable of defending themselves, he'd made sure of that. And yet, in Val's place, he'd have done exactly the same. He would have even then, he reflected, had it not been for Benvolio. But it was probably for the best that for once he was not mixed up in this.

That's when Mercutio came up to them, visibly upset, and started yelling at him, for no apparent reason. Hurt, bewildered, Tybalt did not know what to do, even what was going on. He felt like leaving, he did not want any of this. They'd fought too often already, for all the wrong reasons... He thought... _Fuck, since when do you back away, Tybalt?_

“You're all words but you don't give a shit, do you?” Mercutio was saying. “You disagree with him but you wouldn't be the one to stop him!”

But then Benvolio was between them, a hand on Mercutio's chest. “ _I_ prevented him. I figured I didn't want to have both of you to patch up.”

It dawned on Tybalt. So that was it. He should have run to his cousin's defence or he wasn't worth anything.

“ _What?_ ” Mercutio sounded outraged.

“Now calm down.” Benvolio went on. “There's been enough fighting for tonight. There's been enough fighting between you _at all_.”

Tybalt shook himself. “No, let him, Ben, I get it. I'm a coward. _And_ I step on his territory because you and I are friends.” He sighed. “It's not even worth trying.”

“Wait, what?” Mercutio exclaimed. But Tybalt had turned around and didn't want to turn back. He made it outside, and sat on the entrance's steps. He could not leave, it was his cousin's wedding, she'd be utterly disappointed. And she'd panic if she went looking for him and could not find him. He took his head in his hands. He would not act like at Rosa's party, not again. Besides, he had nowhere to go. He'd never really been welcome with them, he could see it now. They'd acted out of pity, but Mercutio really despised him; he just saw the coward who never confronted him when he'd stopped contacting him without so much as an explanation, the coward who refused to go back home and confront his uncle for the pain he'd brought them all; who let others get hurt and insulted without even reacting. For all his fighting, Tybalt was just a coward, running away from the only fights that really mattered.

And even if that weren't the case – even if Mercutio wasn't just plainly and simply disgusted by him, it could never work. He wanted more, from both of them, than they'd ever want to give. They were together, and there was no place for him in that. He could not lie to himself anymore, he had to face the facts. He'd been deceiving himself for too long now, he'd almost believed it. Believed that they could be friends, that he could forget his own wishes, his own needs, if only he could share a bit of what they had in return. He'd been always so happy in their company, when they were together he could forget all the pain it brought afterwards, knowing it'd never be more. Could forget everything. The hatred of Montagues he was raised in, the years of fighting and defending the family honour, the self-loathing... but then it hit him all at once and it was ten times worse than if he never had known that happiness at all. He felt so angry at himself, at them for letting him believe – but then they didn't know, did they? It was all his fault in the end.

Footsteps. Careful. Someone sitting next to him. Mercutio. He berated himself for still being able to recognize him so easily, only by his walk, his presence. He did not look up, did not move, no matter how hard he wished to put distance between them. He would not look afraid.

He could hear the people inside, but the sound was kind of muted by the beating of his heart, as if he had just run. He fancied he could hear Mercutio breathe besides him, as well.

It took him a moment to start speaking – right when Tybalt started to grow tired of the silence and was about to get up. Now. In a second. Maybe. If he doesn't speak in the next minute. Because he felt that if he left now there would be no second chances. Or third, or fourth – he'd stopped counting a long time ago. He was lost in thought again, pain clutching at his throat yet well aware – too aware – of his surroundings, of Mercutio's presence next to him; when Mercutio finally spoke.

“I'm sorry.”

“Are you, really?” And Tybalt hated himself for it, but it'd come naturally – falling back into the old habits, it was so much easier. He meant every bit of it anyway. Why would Mercutio feel sorry? Did he ever?

“Benvolio said we had to stop being stupid.”

Tybalt chuckled. “So he sent you?” That was it, wasn't it? He was just there because Benvolio had deemed it the right thing to do?

“No. But I felt he was right.”

A hand on his knee. He moved away. Ever so slightly – just out of reach, but not ready to leave just yet.

“At least, well... I am willing to try not to act so stupidly anymore. Starting by saying what we've been avoiding for months.”

He did not say anything more, though – was he hesitant? Just waiting for him to say something? Tybalt found himself looking at him, and cursed himself for it. He did not know what he was seeing, though, with only a faraway street lamp lighting Mercutio's profile. Was it fondness, or concern? Knowledge that he would hurt him if he said it – that he did not want him so close anymore? That their friendship had grown awkward with time – if it ever was anything but – and that they better put some distance between them?

A hand on his face, he couldn't resist, leaned on it, closed his eyes –

“I want you, Tybalt.”

He startled, moved away once more. What now? Another game?

“You're with Benvolio.” It wasn't a question. They were together. Happy. That wouldn't change. Could not. He had to believe that of all the things in his life, this, this one thing would not change. No matter how it hurt. Because if even they failed at that whole being together thing, there was no hope for anyone else.

Someone else sitting beside him, a hand on his shoulder – he hadn't heard Benvolio approach. “Me as well. If you'd like?”

Tybalt turned to him – searched his face for any hint of a joke – but he knew he wouldn't find any. It was not like Benvolio to mock people for their feelings. Nor Mercutio neither, he realised – he might have mocked him when he still thought he had used him; or to hide his own feelings, but he would never actually pretend... And yet how could it be?

“Why?”

Ben looked at a loss. “Why what?”

“Why... why would you want me.” He would not even ask what he meant exactly – he knew from their serious airs that they weren't just talking of a one-night thing between friends; it was more than that, he knew. He had trouble processing. He never went as far as even formulating it in his mind – he wanted both, yet could have none, and it stopped there. But what if...? what if he could, in fact? But while he had nothing to lose, he could not fathom why they'd risk all they had for that. For him.

“Why not?” Mercutio replied.

Tybalt smiled. Benvolio as well, though he tried to hide it, looking away and rolling his eyes.

“We love each other, as much as ever, but...” Benvolio tried to develop. “But it doesn't feel right anymore, just the two of us. Like something is missing. Like it could be more. We need you as well. To make this perfect.”

Tybalt could see him search Mercutio's face for a confirmation. Clearly they hadn't discussed it together before, not in so many words anyway. Yet Mercutio nodded. “It doesn't change our feelings for each other. It just... completes them. I never really forgot about you, and when I found out you never betrayed me as I thought... it all came back and I don't want to fight it anymore. I want you to be a part of us... I've never been as happy as when we were all three together here in Verona.”

“Me neither,” Tybalt confessed. He'd been happy as well when he and Mercutio were together, but it wasn't the same. They were hiding, for one, and while it had a thrill to it... But in spite of all the pain it also brought, he could honestly say he'd never felt more at home than with them both. It was only the lack of something more that made it an agony. Something he could now have.

Benvolio simply smiled. “And we can make it even better.” He closed the distance between them, kissing Tybalt chastely. He kissed him back, still a bit unsure. It was tame, but sweet as well – something he needed. The reassurance that this all was real.

The music back in the reception room changed to some cheesy love song, and he could feel Ben smile. This was all so very stupid, and yet...

Mercutio, on the other side of him, tugged at his shirt. “Care for a dance?”

“What? Now? Here?”

“Yeah, of course! Come on!” He grabbed their hands and pulled them up, dragging them to the middle of the piazza, where he pulled them both into an embrace. It was clumsy, and they could barely hear the music – even if they could tone down their laughs, which they could not. Nevermind how many feet got stomped on, or how dopey it must seem to the potential passer-by.

 

When Juliet came looking for them for the cake, she found the three of them sitting on the ground, or rather, all sprawled in each other's laps, following a bad fall no-one could say who was to be blamed for, that had turned to laughter once it was clear no-one was hurt. They hadn't seen her. And maybe they were all a little drunk, and maybe they'd feel a bit ashamed in the morning, but Juliet could only smile. To see her cousin, and her husband's kin and friends, so happy; it made her perfect day even brighter.

Romeo joined her, wondering what took her so long – and stopped dead in his tracks. She slipped an arm around his waist, motioning for him to keep silent.

“Now that is something we can tell our kids about one day!” she whispered.

“I bet they'll take care of that themselves.” He smiled, and kissed his wife's brow.

They were about to retreat – figuring the cake had little interest to them – when Mercutio looked up and saw them. He got up, helping his partners up before running towards their friends.

“Hey, wait for us! You haven't eaten all the cake, have you?”

Benvolio laughed, and Tybalt punched his shoulder, albeit gently. They all ignored the weird look Romeo gave them, and Juliet's knowing smile. They'd worry about what others would think another day. On the morrow, maybe. Or never. It didn't matter. They had gone through too much for ever letting anyone meddle in what they had. It was just them. It was all they needed.


End file.
